


We love a lot so we only lose a little

by RocioWrites



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 09:23:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20189980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RocioWrites/pseuds/RocioWrites
Summary: “I won’t ever be soft like that, you know it, right?”Kyouya’s entire body turns to him now, eyes wide, like he just said the most indecipherable thing ever. “Soft like what?”The hesitation in his chest grows, pokes at his heart insistently. It hurts a bit, Kaoru almost feels sick. His stomach does a somersault, probably worsened by the alcohol, goddammit all.“Like her.”





	We love a lot so we only lose a little

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I'm not saying I write quite a bit on the job because it's super stressful sometimes, but it sort of seems that's what I'm doing. Eh, I can deal.
> 
> Also, it seems I have a thing for Kaoru second-guessing this relationship because he wants what's best for Kyouya in regards of his Ootori status. Nothing new there, I suppose.
> 
> Title belongs to a Fall Out Boy song because we title with lyrics like True Real Writers TM.

There’s beauty in the way Tomoyo talks so softly and properly, all tamed smiles and mild hand gestures. In the way she walks almost as if floating, that heavenly dress he designed for her flowing weightlessly with every move of hers. Kaoru, damn him, truly outdid himself with it, silky fabric of the loveliest baby blue with details in golden and silver, tiny roses embroidered here and there. It’s a masterpiece, Tomoyo looks astonishing, skin pale and hair black as night.

His guts wringing themselves uncomfortably, he winces into his flute of champagne.

She laughs and it sounds like the twinkly chime of a church bell. Her voice graceful and healing.

Honestly, if he were into women, well, he’d go for it, he made her more gorgeous with that dress, after all.

Oh who does he plan to fucking trick thinking stupid stuff like that? He doesn’t find women attractive that way, and even if he did, Tomoyo owns him nothing more than she already paid for that perfect dress.

Still, Kaoru wishes he could trick himself into not caring about her beauty and sweet predisposition all directed at Kyouya.

He turns around, drowns the last of his champagne and almost stalks behind a waiter to get another glass. This one has red wine instead but he doesn’t really care much about it. It tastes delicious all the same and it burns pleasantly on its way down his throat, spreading a warmth on his chest that makes him realize the champagne from before was alcohol free.

That would explain why he’s feeling so sentimental, he’s way too sober for comfort.

Kaoru knows better than to get smashed on Tamaki’s celebrations. Yet… yet he’s already searching for more of that exquisite wine. With every sip, he erases Kyouya’s answering smile at Tomoyo because fuck it, they look so good together it revolts something in Kaoru, deep in his mind that whispers maliciously at him.

It could be funny, a Hitachiin being insecure.

It could be, but it isn’t, he’s actually suffering with this hesitation so permanently installed inside his ribs, squeezing his lungs and heart from time to time. It’s what being in love means, he knows, oh he fucking knows it alright. He thinks without thinking that this is what being in love with an Ootori actually means.

By his third glass, he wonders if Kyouya ever feels something similar to this. Kaoru flirts with people on and off, he’s even more of a public figure than Kyouya and even his interactions in interviews and social networks are flirtatious. However, he can’t recall one single chance when Kyouya may have looked at him like Kaoru was a frustrating tease with no scruples whatsoever. Then again, Kaoru isn’t looking at Kyouya like that, he wouldn’t, no matter what Kyouya did or didn’t do.

He’s— he was, because Kaoru takes space in a nice corner with his wine and pointedly avoids looking towards that specific direction. He was looking at Kyouya like his whole world was crumbling down, as if Tomoyo could charm Kyouya away from him, as if he sealed his own destiny by making that dress for her and giving her the last piece to seduce Kyouya.

And God, it’s so fucking ridiculous. A startled laugh fights to bubble up from his throat and escape to freedom – the kind of laugh that’s so awful it always precedes his tears, how sad and idiotic of him. He doesn’t want to cause a scene but it feels like there’s nothing he can do to stop this frightening ambivalence. A part of him realizes that it’s unfair to Kyouya, yes, and heart knows no fairness, isn’t that how the saying goes?

Kaoru can’t be fair. Nor soft, nor delicate. He can’t be like Tomoyo, translucent and sweet, all controlled mannerisms. Tamed and nonthreatening.

It’s awful. Kaoru likes her women with more spine, fearless. Like Haruhi, like Renge. Fire and spirit, strong-willed. Tomoyo doesn’t look like that from a distance. Maybe she’s a better actress than he gives him credit for. Or he’s bolder, sillier, maybe he doesn’t understand – he probably never will.

He empties his glass slower than the other two before, feeling lightheaded, fuzzy at the edges. All this hard thinking wreaking havoc on his emotions.

An attentive waitress catches his attention and closes in on him, smile politely fake for the public. She shoves forward her silver plate full of tall glasses, most of them with red wine.

“Do you want another one, sir?” She asks, and her tone is as neutrally polite as her curved lips.

He’s nodding before reaching for the closest drink but a voice stops him mid-air.

“He’s had enough for now, thank you.” Kyouya sounds gracious as well, but his tone is firm and brooks no opposition.

She blinks at Kyouya, then watches Kaoru’s arm fall slowly and limply to his side. “Of course.” She’s nodding and turning away so quickly that Kaoru can’t even free himself of his empty glass.

The urge to pout at Kyouya and chase after her is strong, more so in his slightly drunk state. However, Kyouya’s eyes have him glued to the spot. His nice corner turns into a circle of Hell, his tormentor the same man he loves so.

Either way, Kyouya, ever the gentleman, takes the glass from him and with a swift look invokes another waitress, places it on her tray with a soft nod of acknowledgment. The waitress smiles and nods too, falling for his charms.

Oh what Kaoru would have given to not being paralyzed for those seconds, so he could have taken a new drink, anything, something, something to keep his head swimming. He doesn’t particularly like the unbalance of being drunk, but here and now, deepening the pleasant buzz would be wonderful.

“Actually… I’d like more.” He protests but doesn’t move.

Kyouya gives him a long look, up and down, and frowns when he settles it back on his face. “You don’t need more.” The reply is stern, as if Kyouya doesn’t really understand why Kaoru would need more alcohol to begin with.

In all fairness, which it has been established Kaoru doesn’t care for really, he isn’t in _need_ of more wine. But it makes the heartache duller and easier to swallow, that sharp doubt shrinking so his lungs can expand properly and his heart beat somewhat normally.

“Alright.” Kaoru says all the same.

The frown in Kyouya’s handsome face grows, like he’s angry. He possibly couldn’t be, Kaoru reasons, because Tomoyo has been giving him her full attention, bathing him in all the loveliest flattery ever.

“What’s the matter?”

His tiny Hell is heated and alcohol-free and Kyouya is giving him an option here, Kaoru will have a trail and it could be fair.

He doesn’t deserve it.

“No matter. At all.” Unconvincing at best, an outright lie at worst. “Everything’s just fine.” He adds, because obviously he wants to press this stupid issue until Kyouya tires of him and turns to Tomoyo’s company for the rest of the night.

The conversation stalls after that, Kaoru bites his lips closed, afraid of spilling more than he’s ready to face, shattering into thousand pieces. And yes, the fine line between sobriety and drunkenness makes this of him, melancholic and ready to tip over the cliff's edge.

It is bottomless, the fall, he thinks.

He watches the crowd move, drinking and chatting, some eating, some dancing. Kyouya watches him. So he watches Tomoyo, slyly not looking towards them – she’s talking to someone and Kaoru can’t help but notice her expression isn’t the same one she was wearing while talking to Kyouya.

The fall also feels somber and distressing, a black ocean waiting for him at the end of it, ready to drown him.

He truly can’t stand it.

“I won’t ever be soft like that, you know it, right?”

Kyouya’s entire body turns to him now, eyes wide, like he just said the most indecipherable thing ever. “Soft like what?”

The hesitation in his chest grows, pokes at his heart insistently. It hurts a bit, Kaoru almost feels sick. His stomach does a somersault, probably worsened by the alcohol, goddammit all.

“Like her.” Kaoru manages to utter. Any more words and his voice will crack, a pitying noise might escape his throat, all sadness and foolishness.

It makes Kyouya blink a moment longer than strictly comfortable. If he’s adjusting his vision, Kaoru doesn’t want to know, because the next thing he’s doing is surveying the whole place.

“Like her.” Kyouya repeats in a deadpan tone.

Kaoru clears his throat, fight or flee instinct giving way to just more doubt. “Harada Tomoyo.” And just like that, saying the name out loud, he’s tipping forward, he’s falling, he’s scattering around. “I won’t ever be capable of such softness.” That somehow feels so important. “I won’t be tamed and mild mannered and—” And Kyouya’s hand on his shoulder stops him at once.

The hand slides down slowly, carefully, until he’s taking him by the wrist and – a silent prayer asking for some privacy in this huge mess of people – he’s kissing his palm and then the reverse of it. Kaoru makes a fist without thinking, Kyouya’s warm breath on the flesh of his hand making him shiver. Kyouya doesn’t seem to take this as something negative, he starts leaving kisses on his knuckles.

“Someone’s going to see us.” Kaoru smartly points out. A part of him isn’t sure that’s a real deterrent.

Still, it does the trick and Kyouya lets go.

Yes, Kaoru feels sobered up enough now.

“What’s the nonsense about Harada? About you not being soft?” Kyouya asks and looks as upset as he can look when in the middle of one of Tamaki’s party, important people all around.

The ocean swallows him, Kaoru can’t breathe, he can’t swim, he can’t reach the bottom nor the shore. Lost, that’s what he is.

He’s lost. But he isn’t soft. He isn’t that delightful shape; he’s barely contained wilderness, he’s greed and pride, he’s _so much_ just bursting through the seams. That’s why he doesn’t offer much else, no explanations, no comments. He’s drowning on his own terms.

That’s why he _wanted_ more to drink, to curse fairness and every lovely laugh Tomoyo has uttered this evening. He doesn’t _need_, but oh how he wants and wants and wants— He _wants_. Kyouya and his clear-cut gray areas, his subtle subversiveness, his pride and greed in return.

The game has always been risking too much and Kaoru doesn’t know if they can keep playing; as it is, maybe they should stop so Kyouya can have the softness that someone like Tomoyo gives. The beauty and the grace only a woman can offer for Kyouya’s position, because society sucks and Kaoru can’t edge Kyouya towards the unknown with him, hurling him at this dark ocean and watching him drown.

Or worse, rise without Kaoru.

How sad, honestly.

“Kaoru.” Kyouya prompts after his long moment without giving a reply. “You aren’t making sense.” He nods, after all Kyouya might be right and he’s making no sense. “Talk to me?” Then Kyouya is blinking and he’s cringing, and talking isn’t needed anymore – Kyouya is enlightened sudden and effortlessly, a well connoisseur of everything Kaoru-related. “Are you jealous?” And the question comes with caution and tenderness, as if Kaoru could break at the mere mention of jealousy.

And okay, he can recognize many sins in him, and yes, jealousy and envy can be there too, there’s plenty of room among his indiscretions after all.

So he bites his lips shut once again.

“Of a woman?” Kyouya presses, disbelief evident.

In any other context, that would be so fucking funny, they’re so gay that the mere idea of any of them being with a woman is laughable. Right now, however, Kaoru feels cold dread pooling in his lower back, that hesitation pinching his heart mercilessly.

“She’s beautiful. She chimes into conversation flawlessly like the best educated woman here.” A pause to breathe, he thinks he’s touched rock bottom. “Tomoyo reminds me of your sister in this setting.” He finally confesses.

Fuyumi is like that in the presence of other important people, smiles tamed and unassuming, grace above all else.

Kyouya blinks, pinches the bridge of his nose and rearranges his glasses with the most annoyed expression Kaoru’s seen in him in days. “I don’t know how to break this to you Kaoru, I should hope this doesn’t change our relationship, but I think I’m into men.” It’s dry and humorless and delivered perfectly so much that it makes him scoff.

“Oh shut it.” He protests jokingly, and it feels just like freedom, the teasing, it’s like a lifeboat with bright lights in the middle of this lightless ocean. It’s hope. “I know you’re gay. I just thought—” And he cuts himself there.

“What did you think?”

Exactly, what did he think?

Perhaps, he didn’t think. That’s the whole thing in the end. He’s letting his insecurity reign him and push him over. He fell, how idiotic of him. Yet, Kyouya is his lifeboat. He just have to cling to it, cling to _hope_.

“I don’t care for softness. I don’t want softness.” Kyouya continues, sensing Kaoru won’t answer. “I want _you_.”

Kaoru knows this to be true, he’s well aware of wanting, of both of their wants. What he’s talking about though, it’s something else. A part of him hurts at this notion, it wounds him to his very core because wanting hasn’t anything to do with what Kyouya should do.

“Do you think I’m the one you should be wanting?” It’s accusatory and a punch below the belt, Kaoru realizes, absently deciding he doesn’t care.

Kyouya looks offended for three whole seconds before transmuting himself swiftly into the perfect picture of controlled neutrality.

“I thought…” Kyouya starts, measured, almost calm. “That we were past this part where you try to break up with me because you believe as an Ootori I should date a woman to please my family.”

He says it like it’s a phase Kaoru should outgrow and leave behind, but it is an actual true valid concern. Fuck Ootoris, yes, but also Kyouya should do that on his own terms, he should change his path and gain recognition for his work not for who he decides to bed.

So Kaoru’s only real response is to glare and will with the sheer power of his mind some more wine into existence.

Luck isn’t on his side as it seems, or every waiter and waitress is terrified of Kyouya – which is a sensible assumption to be honest.

Kyouya sighs, as if dealing with a bratty small child. “Kaoru.” He says the name in a conciliatory way and Kaoru’s breathing always halts a heartbeat at the tone. “Why did you go to my family’s Christmas party?”

The question catches him off-guard. His first instinct is to deny liking to assist to said party, to mingle amongst Ootoris like he’s already part of the family by proxy. His first instinct is to protest and deny. However, Kyouya is looking at him with patience and love and Kaoru has a hard time staying afloat, he can’t turn down his lifeboat.

“Look, I didn’t— It wasn’t— What I mean to say is—” He stumbles through a coherent sentence he doesn’t manage to form. Kyouya waits. He takes to watch the other patrons, no one paying them any attention, not even the waitress he tried to summon. Soft music envelopes them all, chattering and laughter sounding lowly and echoing. It could be pleasant, this party, if he hadn’t decided to latch onto Tomoyo’s lovely flirting with Kyouya. “I wouldn’t have been there if I knew the rest were too busy to go.” He says in the end, the effervescent feeling of discomfort very present in his words.

“_God_.” And he’s removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes, massaging his forehead for a tiny moment, before putting his glasses back on and looking equal parts disappointed and fondly annoyed. “I _think_ you’re becoming way too dense.” His voice sounds pained almost.

“Hey!”

Kyouya leans conspiratorially towards him, finally invading his personal space. Not the first time, and it won’t be the last, and still it’s always so thrilling to have him _right there_. Kaoru doesn’t back down, he’s still defending his point, positively refusing to take the hand that might lift him up.

“Don’t you know why our friends didn’t go?”

“Because they were busy.”

“Because they weren’t invited.”

Oh.

He does a double take and this time, does back down, just enough to watch him square in the face. “Wait, what?”

An unimpressed arched eyebrow is all the response Kyouya gives him. He knows what it means, _didn’t you know that?_, _were you seriously that oblivious?_, _what the fuck were you thinking?_, and so on. He did _not_ know, how could he even know? And more importantly, _why?_

He clears his throat. There’s no effect of the alcohol ingested by now, he’s all sober and completely misguided. “Tamaki was surely invited.” What a weak defense. Awfully enough, he wonders if he can fall further down. Kyouya shakes his head in a negative answer. “Then how the fuck was I invited?” Kaoru isn’t screaming, but very nearly. The tone is almost hysterical, there’s something that doesn’t add up here.

“You’re dense.” Kyouya says matter-of-factly. “Tamaki wasn’t invited either, no.” He confirms out loud because apparently Kaoru isn’t inclined to believe it. Like all of this is physically exhausting, he adds: “I should have taken that wine, _for me_.”

Kaoru wants to be angry, offended even; he’s just confused right now.

The ocean is deep, and Kaoru thinks absentmindedly that Kyouya isn’t a lifeboat, he’s a goddamned lighthouse, a _beacon_. He’s drowning, falling still, down, down, the cold water is filling his lungs. He hopes against all odds that it kills the hesitation there, maybe his heart will be able to beat at a normal rhythm again soon. He’s stuck between deciding to swim towards Kyouya or just letting himself drown, be sucked into the depths of darkness, lay there at the bottom and never come out.

Just then, maybe Kyouya’s light would guide Tomoyo correctly.

It looks, for all intents, that Kyouya will call a waiter and be done with this. He doesn’t. Instead he pierces Kaoru with a mix of a glare and a frustrated expression.

“You were invited as my partner, Kaoru.” He explains at last. That’s all he offers, but it’s enough. It’s more than enough.

There’s a lump in Kaoru’s throat, his breathing faltering, chest constricted for real now and not just a metaphor about falling and drowning and all that.

“_What?_” He squeaks in a hushed broken plea of a syllable.

Another sigh and Kyouya is sincerely ready to get inebriated. “Kaoru, you were invited to the Ootori Christmas party by my father as my romantic partner.” He’s talking slowly, intoning every word carefully and with intense purpose. “And that’s the reason behind none of our friends showing up, because they weren’t invited as it was a family party, and much to your chagrin, you are my family totally acknowledged by my father and siblings.”

Time stops. There’s no more music or chattering filtering through the haze such a declaration leaves him in.

“Um.” It’s the more coherent thing he manages to utter.

Kyouya is suddenly smiling at him, amused and tenderly exasperated. “Quite indeed.” He replies as if Kaoru actually said something very interesting and elaborated and not just a mere sound that means nothing at all. Except his renewed strength to swim towards the beacon that Kyouya is for him.

The tension drips from him, wave after wave of unbalanced shock making him softer around the edges despite his previous statement.

“I hope this puts a stop to that senseless idea of yours about Harada and her supposed softness you believe you lack of.” Kyouya is serious but kind, Kaoru opens and shuts his mouth a few times, no sound coming out of it. “Either way, you shouldn’t worry. We’ll go over this as many times as needed, just to convince you that I want you and I’m going to make sure everyone else knows too.”

All air escapes his lungs, a breathy _holy fuck_ escapes him too. Kaoru is blinded by the light Kyouya gives off, near the shore now, nearing steadiness and somehow Kyouya lifts him up, vanishes the hesitation and rearranges his organs to make room for more inside his thorax, ribs cracking but up and up now, breaks him and puts him back together basically at the same time, stashing his unaltered love inside him, all-encompassing.

Another step into his personal space, Kaoru trembles and steps back, the wall preventing his retreat. He cornered himself here, he reminds himself, he made it Hell, he made it an ocean, he made it— it doesn’t matter what he made it, Kyouya took it all, Kyouya takes it all. Kaoru wants to give it all to him, whatever that might be.

Fuck, Kaoru watches with eyes wide as Kyouya leans into him, ready to kiss him, and in this moment he realizes not without some fear, that he would give Kyouya Tomoyo or any other person if Kyouya so desired. However, it seems the only one Kyouya wants is Kaoru, and oh how that puffs his chest. Pride and greed entwined within him, preparing for a kiss that doesn’t come.

Kyouya’s gray eyes are bright and playful, the fondness in his smirk is almost painful to look at, to know it’s solely directed at him and no one else could be occupying this space.

“I _think_.” He stresses and their lips are brushing tantalizingly, very dangerously in a room full of people, even if Kaoru can’t decide if he wants everyone to notice or to not be paying attention to them at all. “I think this year I’m going to organize my own Christmas party, invite _my_ family.”

“Good plan.” Kaoru rasps out, hands done with the whole shy deal and going to grab a shoulder and a bicep at pleasure.

“And in front of everyone and God, I’m going to propose to you.”

“Holy ff—.”

He surges forward and plants his own kiss on those tempting lips saying such things. Kyouya lets him, smile widening and making it impossible to deepen the kiss and turn it into something as excitedly filthy as Kaoru wants. He has half the mind not to whine and parts just enough to enjoy the cleared space with lungs full of oxygen.

“You have enough time to make up your mind, I believe.”

Kaoru doesn’t need any time more than he needs Kyouya to control his smug grin and kiss him silly.

“You—” It’s an accusation. What Kaoru is accusing him of, there’s still time to find out.

“Me.” He says and it’s the most amused wicked tone possible, Kaoru wants to melt into Kyouya’s body heat and never be human again, he wants to plaster himself at his front and give him kiss after kiss after kiss until they’re both too breathless and turned on to do anything else than leave the party and fuck in the limo driving them home. “It’s always been me and you.”

That seals it. Yes, there’s always been them, Kyouya and Kaoru, behind the shadows of friendship and family, choosing wisely each movement, dealing hand after hand of careful considered cards. It’s been them, sometimes doubting but always coming back for this, the tension, the love, the greed, the understanding.

“You and me.” Kaoru confirms, there’s no water around him anymore, no doubt, just the brightest light guiding him home. “_Yes_.” He moans, in a kiss that’s all teeth and bite.

Harada Tomoyo gets all the compliments tonight thanks to her beautiful dress; even Ootori Kyouya comes to her, flattery on his tongue that – if she were paying attention, would have noticed – was directed completely and devastatingly obvious at the designer and maker of said dress. She will recall and reconsider about this at the end of the year, when every magazine and gossip website pick up the news of his engagement with Hitachiin Kaoru.

For now, she watches Ootori go with a handsome red-headed Hitachiin clinging dangerously to him, drunk surely. They sway a bit and his hand goes— and their lips are touching— and— oh no, she’s imagining all that, clearly.


End file.
